


New Constellations

by Saturniidae



Category: D.N. Angel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Future Fic, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29371116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saturniidae/pseuds/Saturniidae
Summary: His phone buzzes in his palm, Risa’s answer nearly instantaneous, a series of texts interspersed with brief pauses as she types.it’s hard to not regret anything （＞人＜；）but!of everything i’ve ever done i never regretted confessing ( •̀ ω •́ )✧In his apartment there is a drawer, and in it is a ribbon waiting to be returned to its owner. In his heart, there's a quiet flame of wanting. But what if he ruins everything by acting, now that he finally has something good?
Relationships: Hiwatari Satoshi/Niwa Daisuke
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	New Constellations

**Author's Note:**

> Happy valentine's day!!!! HAVE SOME POST CANON FLUFF, WE NEED IT  
> MOSTLY this is canon-compliant, but I tweaked one major thing about the ending that...... listen. If you know what I changed, you know what I changed. If you don't.... oh boy. Well, good luck.  
> A hearty thank you to Luanna255 who not only suggested the idea by reminding me that _he has that stupid ribbon aughhghghg_ , but was ALSO kind enough to beta it!!  
> Title/opening is New Constellations by Ryn Weaver.  
> Art by meeeeeeeeeeee lmao

`You can run if you want to  
If you want to, you know  
If there's more, if there's more  
What if there's more?`

If Azumano Middle School went over the top for St. White’s day, then the high school blew past the top and ascended to the heavens.

It’s the school’s version of a festival, with weeks of careful planning, and events all week. The drama department has a play one day, the cafeteria is holding cooking lessons on another. The crafting clubs are giving lessons after class. There are decorations everywhere. He’s pretty sure he tracked white tinsel into his apartment last night.

Last year, he’d skipped the whole production, unable to handle the crush of people and absolute chaos. This year, he’s in a better place and can allow himself the simple enjoyment of watching everyone mill about, eavesdropping on the newest bit of gossip, and just, in general, absorbing the mood around him.

And now that it’s actually Saint White’s Day, everything has boiled over into full blown celebration. There’s food and costumes and music over the intercoms—a bonfire after school hours have ended with some sort of confession karaoke and everything.

It’s fun, and for the first time, he feels no twinges of guilt for thinking it. He’s helped out his classroom, gone and gotten food, and even allowed Saehara to submit his name to some sort of weird anonymous pageant thing. Overall, he’s enjoying it, but…

It’s just that…

“First of all, the girls have gone feral,” he types, looking down at the courtyard from his perch on the rooftop’s ledge. He leans back against the cold metal of the fence, sighing as his phone vibrates twice.

> _don’t be mean Satoshi-kun! they're working very hard on their hopes and dreams!╰(￣ω￣ｏ)_

“It would be less worrisome if I hadn’t heard them talking about taking my buttons, thanks.”

He rests his phone on his knee, idly tapping his fingers against his leg.

It’s just that...

> _very very hard! Anyway, have you done the thing yet??????_

He grimaces at Risa’s message. If he responds truthfully, she’ll lecture him. If he ignores her, she’ll lecture him.

If he lies, well, then she’ll message Daisuke. And somehow that’s worse.

“No.”

He tucks his phone into his pocket before it has a chance to go off again. He can feel it, faintly, and chooses to ignore it. He knows what she’s going to say because she’s been saying it for the past _month_.

It’s not that simple. It really isn’t. In the first place, it isn’t like he can even _talk_ to Daisuke with all of the chaos going on.

If he could, maybe he’d be able to laugh about the veritable hoard of girls following behind him at any given time. He could probably even muster up enough good will to talk to the braver of the bunch.

But Daisuke got himself roped up into at least three different activities for the day—their class’ cafe, the art club’s portraiture event, and whatever nonsense Saehara’s journalism club is up to.

And no matter what Risa may say about it, he is _not_ sulking. Absolutely not.

It’s just that… well.

He really doesn’t want to have to track Daisuke down and do this in public.

Out of habit, he touches his breast pocket absently. Like a coal burning through the cotton, he can feel the shape of it against his touch.

For nearly two years, he’s had it—against better judgement, he’d kept it safe even after he’d realized who it belonged to. Even back then, he just couldn’t bring himself to throw away a symbol of Daisuke Niwa’s affections, no matter _who_ they were intended for.

After he’d tried to chase Risa down, he’d come across one of her friends—he’d tried to pass it off to her, but Ritsuko was insistent that Risa hadn’t lost a ribbon, and then, many many weeks later, Risa herself denied it.

He’d had a hunch after Ritsuko, but the way Riku had choked on her juice when he’d asked Risa was all the confirmation he’d really needed. Because who else would have the luck to lose a ribbon on St. White’s Day?

There really hadn’t been any reason to hold onto it after that. There was no reason to have it tucked away with the photographs of Rio, to be joined by newspaper clippings about the Azumano police force, and his father’s old police ID. But he did.

Like the other things inside of that drawer, he can’t reason _why_ he kept it. Not until after everything was said and done, the older Harada sister safely seen off to her new town and the vacuum left in the wake of the curse settled to a dull roar in the background of the summer’s heat.

Even then, it was a hard thing to admit. At least the mementos of his mother and father are rational, normal things for him to keep. But Daisuke’s ribbon? Why put it with such sentimental items?

To remember how messy feelings make things for his family? That Daisuke’s curse is triggered by love? Blackmail?

He tried to smooth out his past impulsiveness with bite-sized, easy-to-digest reasons. Because the truth is nowhere easy for him to swallow.

“Ah…”

He sighs and rises to his feet.

It’s just that…

He touches his pocket again, biting down on his bottom lip.

“If it was _just_ returning it,” he grumbles as he feels his phone go off again. “Then it _would_ be ‘that easy’, Harada.”

Two years is a long time to hold onto something that Daisuke’s probably already forgotten about. It would be one thing if he’d given it back when he’d realized it was Daisuke’s—they weren’t friends then, so it just would have been a passing awkwardness. Even last year, when Daisuke had shown up at his apartment with food and his homework, he could have pulled that drawer open and handed it over.

With no intentions, no hidden meanings, no secret desire.

Because, that’s the thing. _That’s_ the problem. He’s not lonely because he has no other friends—he’s sure his class would welcome him back into the fray without a second thought. He’s not sulking because he’s lonely, or because Daisuke has other friends and interests.

But it’s just natural to want to spend this sort of day with the person you like, right?

“ _Ugh_.”

He considers himself well-rounded in crisis management: Magical artwork gone awry? He can deal with that in his sleep. Feeling himself slowly get weaker, knowing his impending death was close? He thinks he handled that pretty well. The whole deal with both of his parents dying in front of him? Well, that took a minute to sort through, but all things considered, it could’ve been worse.

But none of that could remotely prepare him for the small, every-day crisis that is his massive crush on Daisuke. At first, he’d wondered if it was a byproduct of the curse that no one had told him about—that, like Dark and Krad, the tamers would also feel the pull between their respective mirrors.

Then, he’d reasoned that he’d just latched onto the first person to ever show him kindness, and once he’d learned a little more of what it meant to be a person who could make friends and fall in love normally, it would fade.

But no. It’s just how it is: Despite everything, he is frighteningly sentimental, and _that_ is why he has the ribbon and the pictures and mementos and it’s far past time that he opens the drawer and acknowledges the people he loves. Because that’s all it is.

He’s in love with Daisuke Niwa, and he’s going to do the single most nerve-wracking thing he’s ever done in his life.

Satoshi grits his teeth and inhales sharply. It doesn’t have to mean anything at all, he can just give it back. He’s just going to give it back. That’s all.

It doesn’t matter that the white ribbon is symbolic, that it has a clear meaning, an intent that lines up with the way his heart skips when Daisuke laughs at his off-color jokes.

They’re good friends, and he’s never once wanted to interfere with that. Not after everything, not after the dust settled and they were left with fragments of a life only they could understand.

He clenches his fist tight, then shakes it out before making his way back to the crowded hallways from his rooftop hideaway. It’s a little after noon, and if he remembers correctly, Daisuke’s current shift is with the art club.

Risa is a meddler, pure and simple—most people would call her nosy, but Satoshi can recognize her sharp intuition for what it is. Endearingly annoying. It’s _her_ fault that he’s so nervous, because _she’s_ who called attention to the entire situation in the first place. He can’t even begin to fathom how her mind works, because normally, wouldn’t someone refrain from setting up their friend with their sister’s ex-boyfriend, no matter how amicably they’d broken up?

But no, Risa barreled through _that_ line of awkwardness with the force of a freight train and told him he should return the ribbon _and_ confess at the same time. Because, and he quotes, _it’s been like a year, they’re friends again, he smiles the most when he’s with you_ , which… Only two out of the three things are true.

While it was true that Daisuke had become more subdued after the curse ended, who could blame him? He’d been living in a state of constant chaos ever since Dark had awoken, and it all had come to a sudden halt. Even so, even though he was struggling himself, he never once wavered in his determination to keep Satoshi on an even keel, and Satoshi can only hope that after Riku had finally decided it couldn’t work anymore, that he’d been able to support Daisuke even half as much as Daisuke had supported him.

These days, it’s almost back to normal. The setting is different, and so are the circumstances, but they still eat lunch together, wander around the grounds, and study together. Sometimes he goes to art club with Daisuke, and sometimes Daisuke goes to the museums with Satoshi. Sometimes it’s just them. Sometimes Saehara comes with Masahiro; sometimes Risa tags along, and then when Riku comes to visit, it’s just like old times.

Daisuke laughs and jokes and trips over his own feet when he’s excited or distracted. He gets flustered less often than before, but it doesn’t take much for Satoshi to get him to turn red and start stuttering—what’s different though, is the way Daisuke can turn the tables on him now. Without Dark perpetually pestering him, somewhere along the line, confidence had bloomed within him.

It’s good. They’re standing on equal ground, and it’s good. He would have given anything for this a few years ago—in a lot of ways, he thinks he _did_. A life burdened by hate and fear and prejudice was traded for one with laughter and stolen food and text messages at ungodly hours. He’d lost so much of himself in that dark space where the Black Wings resided, but even broken things can be made anew.

Why would he risk it? Why would he want more than _this_? It’s good, it’s so good. Why would he chance a future where it would never be the same again?

But then, what if he is remade again? What if he is once again malleable clay, and this forms a new shape to his future, one that is also good?

He doesn’t think he can bear hurting Daisuke, to force him into making a choice.

He walks up to the art club’s exhibit in the auditorium, joining the winding queue for the event. He’s sure if he waved down one of the upperclassmen, they’d recognize him and let him in, but he doesn’t want to make a scene by calling attention to his presence. This way is easier, and keeps the crowds of girls from noticing him.

He shuffles along with the line, listening to snatches of conversation here and there, trying to distract himself with the lives of others.

He turns in the allotted amount of tickets and chooses Daisuke as his artist, trying to ignore the burning feeling on the back of his neck.

He’s just supporting the art club, who has been kind enough to let him be a do-nothing member on the days where he just can’t go home to an empty apartment. It would be the same as going to the literature club’s exhibit. There’s a sly voice in the back of his mind that sounds a lot like Risa Harada going _is that all?_

That’s all it is, and all it will ever be.

“Ah! Satoshi-kun!”

But it’s _really hard_ when Daisuke beams at him and waves him over to his station.

Satoshi hands over his ticket, a small smile of his own growing on his lips. He’s seen Daisuke in nearly every situation and sort of outfits he can think of, but Daisuke with charcoal-covered hands and a messy smock is the best. He’s taken off the white-bow tie and waistcoat from their class’ cafe and rolled his sleeves up past his elbows—others can take the outfits he wore as Dark, or the silly outfit he wore back in middle school as Freedert, but he’ll take this, forever.

“Working hard as ever,” he murmurs.

Their fingers brush as Daisuke takes his ticket; he swallows hard, raising an eyebrow at the other boy. Daisuke laughs and tugs on his cuff.

“And you? Slacking off?”

“It’s my off-period,” Satoshi scoffs, sitting down on the chair opposite of Daisuke. The other boy is half obscured by the large sketchbook on his easel, but his grin is unmistakable.

“And you’re spending it here? I’d have thought you would’ve hidden up on the roof.”

“I figured it was time to repay the art club for letting me sleep in their storage rooms.”

“Well,” Daisuke muses, fishing his pencil from behind his ears. “The upperclassmen are who you’d really have to speak with for that.”

Satoshi crosses his arms over his chest, tipping his chin up. “But they’re not who I wanted to talk to,” he says.

“That’s very sly, Satoshi-kun,” Daisuke says, and there—a peek of red at the tips of his ears. Satoshi can’t really help it, it’s too fun, it’s so easy.

“Is it?”

Daisuke’s brows furrow as his arm moves, pencil to paper, then charcoal. There’s a timer set beside each artist, and Daisuke’s is ticking down to zero. Five minutes is such a small amount of time, but it’s just enough to watch the other boy’s face sink into that wonderful concentration, the space where he goes when it’s just Daisuke and his medium.

Satoshi doesn’t really care about the end product—but this, this is a unique sort of beauty, and his entire being is drawn to it. Once, he thought that it would destroy him, like a moth to a rising flame. But they weren’t destroyed after all, and this is like the first light of dawn on his face.

“When is your free period?” he asks, keenly watching the way Daisuke’s teeth worry the skin of his bottom lip. Then up, to the sweep of his cheekbone, his eyes flickering from the paper to Satoshi, then back again. It’s fascinating.

“Mm, soon,” Daisuke says, nose scrunched up as he grabs his tortillon from the table beside him. “Have you had lunch?”

“Yes, but I don’t mind eating again,” Satoshi answers. “Not with you.”

The timer goes off, startling Daisuke out of his concentration. His face flushes scarlet, and Satoshi can’t tell if it’s from his answer or from being surprised.

“Um, well, then, uh… I was, have you, um—tried any of the food stalls?” Daisuke stammers.

“There’s a pretty good dumpling stall done by one of the third year classes,” Satoshi offers. “I had some earlier. There was an onigiri station too.”

“That sounds good!”

Daisuke dusts off his hands and reaches for a can of fixative. “Don’t breathe too deep,” he warns. He covers the paper with a quick pass of the spray can.

Satoshi sits patiently, anxiety crawling up the back of his throat. “Actually, I—I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says once Daisuke is finished.

He steps towards the easel, hands tucked into his pockets to hide the way he clenches his fists.

“Oh?”

“Maybe before we eat?”

“Oh! Um! Sure,” Daisuke manages, cheeks flushed dark.

Satoshi swallows hard and takes his hands from his pockets, holding one out expectantly. “I’ll wait in the club room, then.”

Daisuke rolls up the sketch, pausing before handing it over. “You know this, this is a lot like telling me you’re going to confess behind the school,” he says.

Satoshi feels his ears start to burn. “I confess that I just wanted a nap,” he says, keeping his voice as flat as possible.

Daisuke’s face twists into something rueful as he laughs. “Of course you do,” he chuckles. “Have good dreams.”

Satoshi raises the drawing in a mock salute. “I make no promises.”

“Hey, Niwa! Flirt during your free time!”

“Aw, hey, let ‘em continue, it’s White’s Day—it’s cute!”

Satoshi freezes, face kept carefully blank as the upperclassmen starts teasing Daisuke. He waits for Daisuke to protest, to turn pink and start insisting it’s not like that, they’re just friends and they’re just teasing each other as friends do.

It’s not like he thinks Daisuke will be _mean_ about it, but, the idea that he’s the only one who really enjoys these moments of ambiguity, where it’s easy to imagine a universe where Daisuke means it, where he unequivocally likes him back, and it’s… It’s all about to end, but he wanted it to end on _his_ terms, privately, where he could be the honest person that Daisuke thinks he is.

“At least I got my sketch done instead of staring, senpai!” Daisuke calls back, making a face over at the older boy.

He turns back to Satoshi, mischief in his eyes. Something swoops in the pit of Satoshi’s gut as Daisuke leans forward, leering—it reminds him so much of Dark, when Dark would use Daisuke’s face against him, but Dark isn’t here, and that look is all for him, like a rope around his neck to pull him in.

“See, there’s a girl that senpai likes in the crafting club, and she came to get her portrait done by senpai, but—”

The upperclassman in question lunches forward and claps his hand over Daisuke’s mouth. “I get it, I get it! I’m sorry, have mercy, okay! But you really do need to work!”

Daisuke laughs and shoves his clubmate off of him, shaking his head. “Sorry, sorry, point taken. Satoshi-kun, I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Satoshi blinks, raising a hand to wave instinctively. “Uh, yeah.”

What the _heck_ just happened?

He makes his way to the art rooms, ducking through empty hallways and less-traveled stairwells as he tries to piece together what that entire exchange meant. Because, for a moment, it sounded like…

Of course not, that’s not what it meant.

He gives a quiet huff, an echo of a laugh, mentally shaking his head. Daisuke was merely diffusing the situation in the kindest way possible, that’s all. It wasn’t that he was acknowledging that their back-and-forth was flirting—he was just turning the tables on his third-year friend, that’s all.

He knocks once on the art room door, then steps inside when there’s no answer. The lights are off, the large main studio lit only by the light filtering in through the white canvas curtains. Someone’s left a window open, leaving the wind to cast the light into a wavering pattern of leaves and beams of light that shift and strobe about the room.

He likes this place more than he thought he would: Places of creation are often cacophonous, a background of stirring voices that grow discordant and painful, but it’s not like that here.

To him, this place sounds like something growing, hopeful and full of something wistfully promising. He attributes it to the guidance of the teacher here, a man who speaks of art in terms of states of being, rather than the strict rules that Satoshi’s so used to. Certainly, the way the teacher approaches art is good for Daisuke, who’s grown in leaps and bounds since they’ve started high school. It’s peaceful here, in this place where there are no expectations for him because of who he is.

He likes it. He likes the art that’s made here, just like he likes coming to school and making friends and just _being_. Maybe that’s why he’s so afraid of what’s to come, of the power that rests in that cloth ribbon in his pocket.

He likes where he is at this moment in time: he’s comfortable, he’s content.

He sets his sketch aside, tucking his hands into his pockets as he paces around the circle of easels in the center of the room.

His fingers brush against his phone, and he pulls it out with a sigh.

He opens up his inbox, preparing himself for the flood of texts from Risa.

> _i knew it! idk why i asked :T_
> 
> _do the thing! and do it RIGHT_
> 
> _is2g if you hand him that ribbon like ‘oh we’re friends so i just kept this’ i will get on the next plane to azumano and kick ur butt and i will bring riku and she will kick ur butt too  
>  _
> 
> _like i am on V A C A T I O N rn why r u stressing me out s t o p it DO THINGS!!! (╯°□°）╯_
> 
> _seriously i can understand you being scared, but what could you lose by trying your best?_

It’s almost laughable for Risa to even ask—she should know what’s at stake, she should know what it’s like. What could he lose?

What could he lose?

“Everything,” he answers. He could lose it all, in one breath.

He’s content to be like this, in this strange place he inhabits in Daisuke’s life. He could exist here for the rest of his life, fed on scraps of flirtatious conversations and genuine platonic affection. It’s not a lot, but it could be enough.

There’s a difference between being content and being happy, though. He’s aware of the difference so acutely it hurts. There’s a delirious joy in walking the line between friendship and something more, one that he’s tasted in brief moments and has left him thirsting for more.

But is he strong enough to survive if wanting more ends up with having nothing at all? After all, he was only able to survive everything up until now because he wasn’t alone, because he had a goal and he had a will that burned the very fabric of his soul and he had a friendship that reached out across the barren field of his soul.

Now? Now all he has is the everyday. It isn’t _nothing_ , but it’s a winding river of passing moments, of brief feelings that add up into an existence that ebbs and flows like a tide. He doesn’t have that all-encompassing fire anymore. He doesn’t miss its sting, but sometimes he wonders if it’s okay to live like this.

He hasn’t figured out yet what he wants from his life, other than to live it. Will that sort of thing be enough?

If he finds himself in a future separate from the person that gave him hope and a reason to want to live a life like this, what comes next for him in the empty dawn?

His phone buzzes in his palm, Risa’s answer nearly instantaneous, a series of texts interspersed with brief pauses as she types.

> _instead of losing, then, what could you gain? like—what is it that YOU want? if you look at it as asking yourself what sort of feelings and experiences you want to have? what should you do to make yourself happy when you think about what sort of choices you make?_
> 
> _if you think you gain things to lose them, then what’s gonna make it easier later on? maybe it’s presumptuous but i don’t see anything wrong with doing things that you can say were hard, but that you don’t regret!_
> 
> _it’s hard to not regret anything （＞人＜；）but!_
> 
> _of everything i’ve ever done i never regretted confessing ( •̀ ω •́ )✧_

He pauses, eyes drawn upwards from his phone to the canvas in front of him.

There, before his eyes, is the labyrinth inside of Manisumea, carefully sketched out in Daisuke’s steady hand: all of the twisting stairs, strange lights, and the empty doors. It stretches out across the canvas, wide-strokes of shadow and light belying the size of the scene depicted. His eyes are pulled across the canvas by those loosely worked strokes of color, a beam of light to a wide arched door, a figure shaded in blue and white with arms outstretched almost defiantly. Is this how Daisuke saw him back then? Defiant and proud and… triumphant?

Or is this a version of him that only exists in a dream?

He sometimes dreams about their time in the labyrinth. Even then, he’d wanted. He’d wanted a future even as he threw himself, bloody and broken, at a wall that could not be overcome alone, and was shocked to find himself face-to-face with that blatant truth.

He was afraid all the time back then. He was afraid of wanting, of having, of losing. He wanted to be more than that, more than the fear and the desperate yearning. He wanted to be stronger.

Is he more than he was? Is he stronger? Can he survive wanting and reaching and losing? Has he become the person Daisuke always saw him as?

What does he want _now_? What sort of outcome does he want the most? What does he want to say, and how should he best convey it? With this feeling like a twisting labyrinth, what is the best path to take?

“You’ll get wrinkles by the time you’re twenty if you keep your brow like that all the time, Satoshi-kun.”

Satoshi looks towards the door, shaking his head. “Do I look like the sort of person who worries about that kind of thing, Niwa?”

Daisuke laughs, nudging the door closed behind him with his foot. His arms are full of boxes of used up supplies. He sets them beside the door.

“I don’t know, maybe,” he says. “Anyway, I thought for sure I wouldn’t get to see you today!”

It’s too late to decide, Satoshi thinks. All he can do is blindly walk down the path underneath his feet. “Ah? Really?”

Daisuke nods. “Well, our shifts in the classroom were different, and last year you didn’t come at all,” he says as he walks up to his easel, counting off on his fingers. “And then with all the girls trying to track you down, I figured you’d leave early, once you did your part.”

“Oh, I… I wanted to stay, that’s all,” Satoshi says. He clasps his hands at his front, squeezing his wrist tightly. “I shouldn’t waste this life I’ve been given.”

Daisuke touches his elbow, a gentle motion that twists Satoshi’s gut into his chest. “Hey,” he says. “You don’t have to do things that you dislike just because you feel like it’s expected of you.”

Satoshi turns, studying the earnestness of Daisuke’s face. He can feel his friend’s concern like a physical touch. He wants to lean into it, to cocoon himself in the sheer warmth of another human being’s concern.

He smiles, shaking his head. “That’s not it,” he says. “It’s… sure it’s a little chaotic but…I’m having fun.”

“Really? That’s great!” Daisuke says, grinning so wide it wrinkles up his eyes and nose. “So, you wanted to talk about something?”

Satoshi turns away, walking over towards the windows. He hoists himself up onto the windowsill, letting the glass cool the heat rising to his neck.

What does he want? What will he regret?

It should be clear: So many people make this choice, every day. Daisuke’s done it; Risa did it. Everyone, everyone, they’ve all reached a point where what they want overflows into actions, and he’s still immobilized by fear.

Why is he so afraid? Daisuke has never once broken the promise he made to Satoshi: they weren’t destroyed, even when it seemed like destruction was the only option. They survived, over and over, through the loss and the pain, and it led them here.

Daisuke isn’t the sort of person who would toss him aside. Not after everything they’ve been through. So why is he afraid? Why can’t he trust himself?

It’s not too late to decide for himself, to change his mind and change his path. What does he want? What will he regret?

He has to tell him about the ribbon, he knows that much.

“Two years ago, Dark took control of you at school,” he says, staring across the room at Daisuke.

Daisuke’s face changes, his genial expression falling flat in a moment of confusion before he frowns. “Yeah, that… that happened.”

“I don’t know exactly what he did during that time,” Satoshi says. “I saw him speak with Risa-san at the time, but… I was unable to do anything. You collapsed the next day, so I’ve always assumed that you exerted yourself during that time to regain control.”

Daisuke looks away and runs a hand through his hair as he sighs. “No, not really. I wasn’t that brave,” he says.

He walks towards Satoshi, brows furrowed as he studies the other boy. “Satoshi-kun, what are you getting at?”

“During that time, you lost your ribbon, didn’t you?”

“What? How did you—”

Satoshi looks at his hands, watching his skin tug across his knuckles as he clenches his fists against his knees. He swallows hard, then reaches up to his breast pocket and pulls the ribbon out.

“I know because I found it,” he says quietly.

“I thought it was Risa-san’s,” Satoshi continues. “But when I asked around, no one seemed to think she lost one. Later, I asked her, and she said it wasn’t hers. But she was eating lunch with Riku-san, and she reacted strongly to the question… And that’s how I figured it out. That it was your ribbon I’d found. That it was meant for Riku-san. I’m sorry I never told you or gave it back.”

“I, no, it wasn’t for—that, that’s not the point,” Daisuke stammers, voice faint. “Why? Why are you apologizing?”

Satoshi looks up in surprise. “I, doesn’t it make sense that I should apologize? Aren’t these supposed to be a… a token of your feelings?”

“Well, _yes_ , but—”

“Then I’m sorry for holding onto it for so long, it was shameless of me to keep it,” Satoshi insists, holding out the ribbon towards Daisuke.

Daisuke looks at him with bewilderment, his face slowly flushing. “I’m not taking that,” he says finally, shaking his head. “Not until you tell me why you kept it.”

“It’s yours, take it,” Satoshi repeats. “I just felt like it was something that… should be held onto, I guess. Take it.”

Daisuke steps forward, fingers closing around Satoshi’s, slowly closing their hands together in a loose fist. His cheeks are blazing, but his face is set into an odd expression, one that Satoshi’s seen, but he can’t recall where or when. Their positions have them almost nose-to-nose, and in the December chill, Daisuke’s hand blazes against his own.

“It sounds like, to me, maybe,” Daisuke says softly, lips curled into that familiar lopsided way of his; “That you didn’t want to throw away my ‘feelings’?”

“It, it would have been rude to,” he murmurs. He feels the ways his eyes widen, and he can’t control the pulse of his heart at his ears. This isn’t how he imagined this going, this isn’t how he thought it would go at all. He didn’t prepare for a scenario where he had to explain more than how and where he found it. He just wanted to… he just wanted…

He used to want so badly it drove him mad:

He wanted to live a normal life, with normal friends and a school that he enjoyed. He wanted to go to sports festivals and enjoy the stupid activies his classmates assigned him; he wanted go to club activities, and eat lunch without wondering if he could keep it down.

The world that he thought was closed to him has opened, and here he is.

He wants to look back on this life and say that he was brave, that he was honest, and that he was, as always, Daisuke’s friend.

It’s just that… _it’s just that_ …!

“Um. So here. It’s yours.”

“I don’t want it,” Daisuke says firmly. “I don’t want you to tie me to my past feelings anymore, Satoshi. But… if they’re _your_ feelings, I’ll accept them.”

“What?”

Daisuke reaches up and touches his own bowtie, eyes fixed on Satoshi. “If the person you like gives you a ribbon and ties it, then your love will last, you know? I’ll accept it then.”

Satoshi shakes his head, his mouth dry. “We both know that that’s not true,” he manages, voice cracking. “That’s just a... It’s… Please don’t make fun of me, Daisuke, it’s not like you.”

Daisuke bites on his lip, mouth trembling. “It’s not a joke,” he says quietly. “But I thought… it sounded like… Did I misunderstand? Did I mess up again?”

He sounds so close to tears, and Satoshi can’t stand it, he can’t stand hurting Daisuke. He’s so afraid of hurting him that it feels like he’s been plunged straight into frigid water.

“ _No_! No! It’s just, I just— I don’t know, I don’t know what you want,” he says, catching Daisuke with his free hand. “I, I’m no good with people and being honest, and I, I don’t know what you want…”

“Then tell me what _you_ really want,” Daisuke says emphatically. “Because I don’t understand either.”

He’s so afraid. He’s so afraid of the implications of it all. He wants, he wants, he wants—

All the things he wanted in those dimly lit years, stifled by pain and fear and longing… He has them. They rest in his hands, tiny threads that lead to bigger things and trace out the echoes of his future.

He likes his school. He likes his friends. He has more than an empty apartment and the drawer full of memories. He has a phone with an inbox stuffed full of notifications and pictures. He has a club that he goes to and another that he loiters around with.

It should be enough. He’s reached that place he’d never thought he’d live to see, and it should be enough, but… It’s just…

There’s something inside of him that wells up, drenching him with a longing so keen that he thinks he may break from it. It pushes up against his throat, against his chest, fills his lungs and his blood, and aches.

He’s afraid of it, he’s afraid of how much he _wants_.

He wants to spend days like this with Daisuke, more than anything. As he played waiter for his class, as he walked the halls, as he ate on the roof, as he waited…

He wants a world where he can spend his free time with Daisuke, where he can look across the room and doesn’t have to pretend he isn’t seeking the other boy out, where he can visit without excuses, where he can reach out and hold onto him just like this.

He wants to let himself love without fear. He wants to be bigger than the fear, and to let himself be _known._

So, then… what will he regret the most?

No one is assured forever. Just because they can walk alongside each other now, it doesn’t mean that a day may come when he’s alone again. And if that day comes, what sort of regrets would he carry with him? What sort of action should he take to make sure that when he thinks back on this, he doesn’t cringe away from his own actions?

He knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop the tremble in his hands or the sharp ache in the back of his throat as he struggles to find the words.

“I—! I was always thinking about you, even when—even when it was dangerous, even when I didn’t understand what it meant! And I still don’t understand anything at all! It’s too much, it’s too big to grasp, but I just… what if this messes everything up, what if I ruin it? What am I supposed to do with these emotions? I didn’t want to tell you at all, because I don’t want to be alone anymore! I want us to stay friends,” he whispers.

His throat and eyes burn, but he looks at Daisuke properly even as the room blurs as tears well up in his eyes. “I like you, I like you, so much that I’m scared of it. I like you, and I want to stay beside you, always.”

“Hey…I’m scared too, you know? It’s only natural to be afraid,” Daisuke says, leaning forward. His forehead is warm as he presses forward, his nose soft against Satoshi’s. He laughs, a quiet, gentle sound that heats the air against Satoshi’s mouth.

He sits, stock still as Daisuke slides his hand up Satoshi’s arm, still murmuring in that quiet, coaxing voice of his: “You’re so important to me, so how could I not be scared? If we both feel the same, then we do what we’re best at, and face it together. It's okay. Because, I… for a while, I’ve hoped… I’ve been hoping…that we would, that you felt the same as I do...I’ve wanted to hear you say those words for ages.”

“You do?”

“I’ve been hitting on you for ages, you know?” Daisuke laughs, his eyes fluttering closed. Satoshi can feel the brush of his lashes against his own, and it’s like magic, it’s a magic all on its own that sets his skin alight and brings him to movement. “To think, we both, together, were wanting…”

He reaches up and hooks his fingers into the fabric of Daisuke’s tie, tugging on it as he tips his head up just so, and then—and then…

Daisuke’s mouth is warm and soft, and as the silk of his bow tie falls away, Daisuke reaches up and presses his fingers to Satoshi’s own tie. He barely registers the snap of the clips popping because Daisuke steps even closer, lips parting, his tongue as hot as a brand against the seam of his lips.

Daisuke’s fingers press against the hollow of his throat, and when they pull away, Satoshi catches the flutter of a ribbon in the periphery of his vision. “Did, did you just?” he asks, touching the neatly tied ribbon at his collar.

Daisuke grins, completely unapologetic. “I’d sort of hoped I’d be able to give it to you!”

“Ah… that’s… a bit unfair,” Satoshi murmurs, reaching out to brush his fingers against Daisuke’s collar. He stands, bringing their bodies closer together. “Some of us don’t have years of thievery under our belts.”

“You’re welcome to tie mine now,” Daisuke says, and Satoshi has to laugh.

“You sound insufferably smug,” Satoshi says, embarrassed at how hoarse his voice sounds. His hands tremble as he reaches up.

Daisuke lifts his hands, turning his collar up as Satoshi loops the ribbon around his neck. He curls his fingers around Satoshi’s wrists, leaning in to brush a quick kiss to Satoshi’s parted lips.

“I’d just… I hoped that you’d receive mine… I was afraid you’d turn me down,” Daisuke admits as Satoshi ties a neat bow.

“Me? _I_ was afraid _you_ wouldn’t want to be friends anymore,” Satoshi says.

Daisuke laughs, knocking his forehead up against Satoshi’s. “Hey,” he says softly. “I like you. It _is_ scary, because… I can’t imagine not being friends with you—it’s… my biggest fear was always that Dark would take away the people I loved, and you were always… I always included you in that number. Whether you thought so or not…But we can’t always be afraid, you know?”

“I know,” Satoshi says softly. “I just… It’s hard to break free of that, sometimes. I… I wanted to confess, but… I told myself it would be better to just… try to give you the ribbon. As friends.”

Daisuke pauses, then snorts. “That’s so dumb. How did you even think that would go?”

“I… did not think that far, honestly,” Satoshi says. “I did very little thinking about the results I _wanted_ and more about what I was afraid of.”

“It’s okay,” Daisuke says. “I almost chickened out myself! Riku-san got angry with me and kept sending all these messages this morning, and honestly, it made it worse. I can only muster up so much bravery at a time!”

“Wait a second… Riku-san… knew you were…?”

“Yes? Is there a problem?”

“I’m going to kill Risa, but continue,” Satoshi says blithely.

Daisuke pauses, then closes his eyes slowly as he exhales through his nose. “They set us up, didn’t they?”

“They set us up,” Satoshi confirms. “We tell them it went horribly.”

“Agreed,” Daisuke groans, squeezing Satoshi’s hand tightly. “Our relationship may never recover.”

“How tragic. Do you want dumplings or onigiri?”

“Both, I think. Do you want to go out for coffee after school?”

“Mmm, yeah, but can I come over for dinner? I don’t want to go grocery shopping.”

“Lazy!”

The festival rages around them, full of loud voices and over-excited girls. It’s fun, but it’s just that…

He completely underestimated how much attention their ribbons would garner. He’d rather spend the rest of the festival with the person he likes, _alone_ , thank you.


End file.
